Instincts
by Joan Powers
Summary: Brass’s instincts had never failed him, especially when it came to people. GSR  Season 4  Post “Butterflied” and “Early Rollout”


Instincts

By Joan Powers

**A/N:** I had this idea a long time ago and a recent conversation with Christa brought it back. Thanks to Christa and to griot aka Michele for the beta.

**Summary:** Brass's instincts had never failed him, especially when it came to people. **GSR**

**Type:** post episode

**Timeline/Spoilers:** **Season 4 **-- Post "Butterflied" and "Early Rollout"

**Rating:** K/PG

Brass had always prided himself on his instincts which had enabled him to crack many cases. When he noticed Sara bolting from a crime scene, dashing towards a nearby alley, rather than respecting her privacy, they compelled him to follow. Something was off.

As he drew nearer he stopped, frowning, for he could hear her vomiting. He doubted it was due to the graphic nature of the scene since most of the investigators had iron clad stomachs. Especially Sara. Unfortunately the Trent case, when she'd been using cough drops to disguise the odor of alcohol on her breath, immediately came to mind.

A few months had passed since then and he'd thought that Sara had put her drinking issues behind her. After that incident Brass had shadowed her at work, for he was intimate with the telltale signs of alcohol abuse. He had no intention of getting her in trouble with the department; his actions were in no way official. He'd recognized that she was in pain and he'd wanted to make sure that she wasn't in over her head. After his own near love affair with the bottle years ago, he'd hoped that she could avoid that pitfall. During his surreptitious surveillance, he hadn't noticed any other signs, so he'd assumed it had been a freak occurrence.

As she began to retch again, he wasn't so sure.

He rarely saw Sara under these circumstances, being called back for duty shortly after the end of a regular shift. They were all a bit ragged under those conditions. Greg's clothing didn't even match. Then again, perhaps that was a fashion statement, knowing that kid. Yet the end of a shift, the end of a trying work day was when self-medicating was most likely to occur. Time to unwind, time to try to escape your problems. And if you had insomnia like Sara, sleep wasn't always an option.

He didn't want to embarrass her, but clearly she needed help.

"What's going on Sara?" he asked kindly.

She tensed, straightening. "Nothing…Something's disagreeing with me. Something I ate. That's all."

He wanted to believe her, to return to routine business. He could've easily taken that as his cue to butt out but his gut wouldn't let it be. "Honey, this isn't the way to deal with your problems."

"What are you talking about?" she spoke rapidly, color rising in her pale cheeks.

"Booze is a trap. It's only a temporary escape. Don't do this to yourself. You're better than this. We can get you some help."

Stunned, she replied, "You think I'm drunk?"

Brass shrugged meekly, expecting more denial. It came with the territory.

"I'm not drunk. I'm pregnant," came out of her mouth. Judging from her expression, she hadn't intended to share that juicy tidbit.

He was astonished, he hadn't been expecting that. Then he remembered some other moments from the past months. Gil's shocking confession to a suspect in the interrogation room about a girl he could really love. But he couldn't do it. The man had been so out of it that he hadn't realized that Brass was part of his audience, hanging by the doorway. Always the model of discretion, Brass hadn't mentioned a word to a soul. Not even the fact that he'd seen Sara outside of the room as he left.

He'd put two and two together, fully aware of whom Grissom was talking about. And so had she. A few weeks later came the Trent complex. He didn't blame Sara for feeling down. After all she'd come here from San Francisco at Grissom's bidding. She might have been expecting more. And then to hear that? She was hurting and thus turning to alcohol.

Feeling foolish, he couldn't help himself, "Are you sure?"

"Of course" Sara snapped, slightly indignant.

Who was the father?

She had to still be hurting over Grissom so it must have been a rebound guy and those things never lasted. He'd seen no evidence of a boyfriend, there was no ring or new jewelry screaming couplehood. The office gossip pool was solid. If Sara had a boyfriend, they would've known. And if Sara had a new love, he would've noticed a change in her manner –such as a more cheery demeanor. Unfortunately, she still seemed withdrawn, sticking to business at work. Most likely she had sought comfort in the arms of another man and the affair had gone badly.

Growing angry that a man might have taken advantage of Sara in her vulnerable state, Brass asked, "Does the father know?"

"Yes." She started to convulse again.

"Who is this guy? You know, I can be very intimidating. He needs to care of his share of the responsibilities." Commandeering a squad car to chase down this loser and flashing his weapon wouldn't be that much of an abuse of authority given the circumstances.

Was Sara _laughing_? Doubled over fighting waves of nausea, it was hard to tell.

Brass insisted, "You don't have to go through this alone. Let me help you. Who_ is_ this guy?" He refrained from saying 'jerk' though that was how he felt.

As Sara rose to a standing position, her eyes focused on some one standing behind him. Brass pivoted. It was Grissom.

"Gil, give us some time here. I've got things under control." Talk about the wrong guy to have around. Then again, could the two of them have had a short lived fling after his confession, which then quickly went sour? Could Grissom treat a woman that badly? That didn't set right with him.

Grissom ignored Brass's penetrating looks and directed his words to Sara. "Why don't you take the samples back to the lab and lie down in my office? There are some saltines in my car." He handed her the keys.

Well, his instincts had usually been right.

THE END


End file.
